


Down a Peg

by S_Faith



Series: My Own Little Sub-Universe [15]
Category: Bridget Jones's Diary - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-26
Updated: 2010-04-26
Packaged: 2019-11-24 06:10:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18162356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/S_Faith/pseuds/S_Faith
Summary: When you encounter a woman you hoped never to see again, there's really only one thing to do about it.





	Down a Peg

**Author's Note:**

> For anyone who's ever wanted to unleash their inner (or outer) bitch on Mark's first wife. Features original character Uncle Nick. Takes place the autumn after their first wedding anniversary in [MOLSU](https://archiveofourown.org/series/937383). 
> 
> Disclaimer: I think you know which bit is mine, and which bits aren't.

Nick Wentworth hated being late. It bespoke disrespect of the person awaiting one's arrival, as well as a lack of careful planning. Nick did not generally arrange to meet people he did not respect, and was always a careful planner.

Traffic between Cambridge and London Metro had other ideas.

His destination was the Red Tiger, a relatively new, upscale restaurant serving cuisine from a variety of regions in India; the reason for the drive to this destination was a surprise birthday dinner for his nephew, Mark, who was turning forty.

That aggravated Nick even more. He would really loved to have seen Mark's face upon arrival.

After what felt like an eternity later—in reality, not more than twenty minutes after Mark's expected arrival time; despite having a wife who was perpetually late herself, Nick suspected an effort was made to get Mark to the restaurant on schedule—Nick was pulling his car into the car park. At the front door he requested to be pointed in the right direction of the Darcy party though upon hearing a very distinctive laugh, he hardly needed that direction.

There was a rather large circular table at the back of the restaurant with booth seating. At the very centre of the table, at the back, flanked by people on both sides was Mark. Beside him was his wife Bridget, a girl Nick adored more than he ever might have thought he would have adored a niece-in-law, despite her quirky habits and sometimes maddening behaviour. To Nick's detriment, she knew of his fondness for her, and took great advantage of it.

He recognised most of the people there: his sister, his brother-in-law, and his other nephew, Peter, of course; Mark's long-time friend Hugh; and Bridget's three friends, whose names escaped him at present. The others were vaguely familiar; Nick presumed they had been present at the wedding the year before. As for Mark and Bridget, from his perspective, he could only marvel how happy the two of them looked sitting there; she was leaning against him with her hand raised and fingers combing lazily through his hair, smiling at him with adoration, and he looking both pleased as punch and somewhat sheepish at being the centre of so much attention.

Before he could get the opportunity to join this blissful little party, however, his eye was caught by a woman standing at the bar. Her presence there surprised him. He had not seen her in some time, not since he had used every weapon in his legal arsenal to prevent her from taking away anything more from her marriage to Mark than she'd brought in. He watched her watching that same happy gathering, unseen himself in observing her until her eyes turned to meet his, registering her surprise. 

Wryly he smiled and went towards the bar.

"Mr Wentworth," she said coolly. He noticed then that she was, to put it kindly, not ageing gracefully.

"Well, well," he said. "Did not realise they served tarts here."

She pursed her lips. He relished in the direct hit.

At that moment Mark laughed most prominently, diverting her attention back to his table. Nick knew at that moment, between the unrestrained laughter, the smile on his face, the physical closeness to Bridget, that Mark was more than just a little tipsy. "He's making such a spectacle of himself," she said dismissively, "all over that young blonde thing."

"I'm sure it's impossible for you to recognise happiness in him when you see it," he retorted. "I thought you went home with your tail between your legs… amongst other things. Why are you here?"

"I moved back to London," she said curtly. "I'm allowed to do that, you know."

"I meant at this restaurant. Awfully coincidental."

"That's all it is," she replied. "Coincidence."

Nick noticed she was still not looking away from the table.

"That's his wife, by the way," Nick said. "They married a year ago June, so… I figure their marriage has lasted, oh, about thirty times longer than yours did."

She looked to Nick again, a slightly disgusted expression on her face, before her eyes went back to them. He wondered exactly what kept her gaze drawn in that direction. She couldn't have still been in love with Mark, because she never really had been in the first place. He could only think she was watching with envy… or fascination at a concept so alien to her, marital bliss.

He watched her expression change to something slightly indefinable, which caused him to look at their table again. Mark had taken his wife's cheek in the palm of his hand, and now bent to kiss her; rather unlike him for a public venue, it was no quick peck, but a rather passionate, intense kiss that elicited hoots and playful applause from the others at the table. He watched Bridget pull away with a giggle, looked to her friends, then back to Mark, to whom she very evidently said, "I love you." She put her arm around his shoulder and leaned into him, reaching for a small bit of food from a plate before him and feeding it to him, her fingers lingering between his lips, to the laughter of the assembled.

"Still seem very much on honeymoon, don't they? Then again, you wouldn't know, because you never wanted one of those, and Mark was not inclined to take you anyway." He allowed his gaze to travel up and down her shapeless body, adding, "Understandably." He could see her jaw set in her anger; he was thoroughly enjoying needling her over Mark's current wealth of happiness. "Incidentally, it's his fortieth birthday. He looks younger, healthier, than he did just five years ago."

She turned a glare back to Nick, her outrage simmering just beneath the surface. She had never been witty enough to think up a riposte to match his, and this time was no different; she only offered a veiled threat: "I should go offer my best wishes."

"I would recommend against that," Nick said. "After all, I would prefer he continue to have a _happy_ birthday."

"I should very much like to meet this new wife of his, though," she said.

"No," he said forcefully. "Though I can see you might be desperate enough for friends to try to make one of her, the rest of them would wrestle you to the ground before you ever got a word out." At that moment Bridget playfully brought her martini glass up to Mark's lips to give him a sip. "So you're here alone?" he asked pointedly. "Have you driven away everyone you've ever known to the point of eating a meal with you is completely, nauseatingly unpalatable?"

She fixed her mouth into even more of a taut line. "Your manners have not improved any," she said.

"About as much as your looks." As much as he enjoyed playing with her as a cat would toy with an ill-fated mouse, it was time to demonstrate to her how deadly serious he was. Lowering his voice, he went on in a tone that did not disguise his cool fury, "I only have one concern, and that is for my family… and though Mark may have recovered and then some, but I will never forgive you for how you injured him. I will do whatever I can to prevent you from infecting their happiness with your presence."

A commotion at Mark's table caught their attention; Bridget was apparently working her way out, probably to use the ladies', which, Nick realised, was just beyond the bar. This was borne out when Bridget began to weave her way through the myriad other tables in the direction of the bar. Nick turned his eyes back to her and gave her his most penetrating gaze.

"You will not say a word to her, do you hear me?" Nick said in that same dark tone. "I hope I am making myself clear."

She was the one to blink first. "Crystal," was her reply. She turned back to the bar, sipping her drink.

Nick watched for that moment in which Bridget noticed he was there; she did not disappoint in her reaction.

"Uncle Nick!" she squealed excitedly, more than a little tipsy herself, getting up on her toes, affectionately throwing her arms around him and smacking a big kiss on his cheek. She looked fresh and gorgeous, her curves amply highlighted by the pretty airy dress she wore, unlike the dour, flat-chested thing Mark's first wife was. "When did you get here? We were getting worried—you're never late."

"Just arrived, my child," he said, bringing his arms around her to return the hug. "Traffic was a nightmare. I apologise; I should have phoned."

"'Sokay." She pulled back; he watched her brows draw together. "Why are you at the bar?"

"Was thinking of getting a cocktail before trying to wedge myself into that table with all of you."

"Ah. Oh, I'm so sorry you missed Mark's surprise, though. It was great! Though I bet Elaine or Peter snapped some good pics. Oh! Right. Hugh took video."

He chuckled. "Go on, I'll get my drink and wait for you here."

"Okay," she said, beaming a smile before heading on to the ladies'.

"Am I allowed to speak again?" Mark's ex asked quietly, sarcasm heavy in her voice.

"If you must."

She turned to face Nick just as Nick turned to the bar for a drink; he did not wish to make a liar out of himself to Bridget. "Well, it's perfectly obvious to _me_ what he finds so attractive in her."

Nick knew she was referring to physical endowments only and had meant it in a very catty way. He smirked. "Surprisingly, I agree with you," he said. "I'm quite sure that attracted his attention, and I'm also equally sure he lets her know just how much on a regular basis. It must have been a great shock to him, though, to learn that such a beautiful girl could be so witty and clever, and warm and open too. Those are the sorts of things with which a man like Mark ultimately falls in love… and stays in love. But you wouldn't know that, either."

That left her rather evidently at a loss of words.

"Now, if you'll excuse me," Nick went on, "I have a niece to escort back to our table."

He strode away towards the toilets, and met Bridget just as she was exiting. "Oh!" she said, surprised he would be there. "Where's your drink?"

"Decided instead to opt for water. A bit dehydrated after the drive." He extended his elbow out to her. "Our table awaits." With a giggle, she slipped her arm through. 

"You are the strangest combination of teddy bear and cranky old geezer, you know," said Bridget. "It's very clear where Mark got those qualities from."

"He is certainly no cranky old geezer," said Nick. 

"Eh," she said affectionately, "he has his moments. I do my best to discourage them, though."

He saw, out of the corner of his eye, a very critical look in their direction from his most recent conversational partner. He was extremely pleased at his triumph.

Nick's arrival was warmly welcomed; his sister Elaine echoed Bridget's sentiments of worry, for which he apologised again. Nick sat at the end of the row beside his sister, which afforded him a view of the bar. He saw her over there even still, viewing the family tableau, thankfully still unnoticed by Mark or his parents.

"Just in time for birthday toast," said Peter. "Where's your drink?"

"It's water for me tonight," he said; aside from feeling a bit thirsty after the drive, he also wanted to remain clear-headed in case she decided to come over and make a scene despite his stern warnings.

"To Mark," said Hugh, raising his beer. "You've officially hit 'ancient'."

Nick turned his steely gaze to Hugh. "And that makes me… what exactly?"

"Obviously immortal," cut in Bridget with a smile, to which everyone chuckled.

"She gets away with saying anything she wants because she's cute," Hugh said with a mock-offense. More laughter.

Bridget held up her waning martini. "To Mark, who only gets better with age."

Mark looked a bit embarrassed again, though leaned and kissed his wife once more. "I'm so pleased you could all come," he said. "It means a lot to me."

The gathered friends and family murmured in return how pleased they were all to be there for him. Nick looked to Bridget, who was gazing lovingly (if a little drunkenly) still at Mark. Bridget commented, "This from the man who insisted he did not want a party." They all chuckled as the wait staff brought a series of trays with a spread of different delicious-looking and wonderfully aromatic dishes for dinner. Bridget tipped her drink up and finished it off.

"What are you drinking, Bridget?" Nick asked. It was a special occasion, after all. "I'll get you another."

"Delightful chai martini." She grinned. "Thank you."

Nick went to rise to head back to the bar, only to see Mark's ex-wife departing from the area and heading towards the door. Nick smirked, feeling his victory acutely as he strode back to the bar, watching her exit the restaurant without ever having had supper. He did not like to feel uncharitable about another human being, but in her case, he was willing to make an exception. With any luck, he would never have to lay eyes upon her again.

_The end._


End file.
